


Sweet Tooth

by spyofthecent



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Fluff, George living his life, I tried with the plot?, John is big mess, M/M, McLennon, RINGO straight up living, Side!Starrison, Slight!McHarrison, Steamy near the end my guys, and so is Paul really, lots of food things going on, starrison
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:28:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25604323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spyofthecent/pseuds/spyofthecent
Summary: When a (not-so) sweet accident between George and Paul leads to the development of John's infatuation over digestives, cherry candies, and, well, Paul.Ringo gets it, though. Or at least that's what he thinks.
Relationships: George Harrison/Paul McCartney, George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	1. Just Another Day

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all you lovely people! This is my first ever fanfic and I am ecstatic that it's a Mclennon one :D Please bear with me as English is not my native language (big yikes ik) but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

It was just another day in the studio.

John was met with the scattered, disembodied sounds of noise and dialogue as he walked his way inside the recording area; clicking of some unseen buttons or keys, shifting of feet at different paces and volume, echoed voices possessing varied pitches and tones, all of which seem natural to John's ears. From the doorway, he stood and scanned the room, figuring he'd gotten enough information after a millisecond worth of glancing--with Ringo caught up with his drum setup, George leaned against a wall, the amp before him prepped as a fresh digestive clamped lazy between his tucked lips, and Paul--

  
_Paul_. 

  
He was the furthest distance from John, yet to him he was near enough to be the most visually detailed. Either that or John was simply, utterly infatuated with Paul's presence.

Across the room Paul sat. His proper stature framing him innocently as he craddles his Hofner, the neck high above his head as Paul's carefree fingers, in a skillfull manner, glide their way on each string to tune them effectively yet elegantly. Paul hums each notes to himself, a wonderful response to the bass, and everytime he does so, he rewards his own with a cheeky smile. _What a sight_ , John adds to his jumble of unspoken thoughts.

He found his legs manouvering in a subconscious state towards the bassist, only to be stopped midway by a tap on his shoulder; their manager Brian alerting him of the time. 

"You best be ready now. We're having a long day ahead." He says in monotone as he proceeds to alert each Beatle one by one. 

A look of disappointment washed over John as he turned on his heels, away from Paul's direction, and toward his setup.

The studio had already been set completely when he came in, with their intruments and amplifiers already in position, only waiting for the four, or rather, one late Beatle to mend to. The studio had provided the mics to be positioned up from above, unlike what they usually had on stage, providing floor room to move around, and there would no longer a mic-stand barrier between John and George or Paul and George when sharing microphones during harmonies.

The band take their positions, with Ringo muting his kit, and the chatter between Paul and George subsiding. The band was now prepped, ready for further instructions from the men behind the booth. 

In a bit, the telecom announces, in a choppy version of George Martin's voice "Right on. Rain, take 1." 

The boys begin on their instruments, plucking, strumming, beating. Then came the voice of John, in a slurred, almost sultry manner:

_If the rain comes_  
_They run and hide their heads_  
_They might as well be dead_  
_If the rain comes_  
_If the rain comes_

After the first take, Geoff, the sound engineer gave suggestions for their second take.

"That bit's great, lads. Try and sing closer to the mic, though, George. Right about to Paul here." He taps his fingers on the glass, at least that was what George had thought, pointing towards Paul who was practically stood below the mic. 

George nods, and take 2 began.

  
_No sweat_. John inaudibly remarked.

  
The recording was going succesful, John thinks. They completed the first few stanzas, no cuts, and they are easily making their way to the next chorus. John, with ease in his heart brought by the effortless take, had the courage to watch Paul from the corner of his eyes. Paul who was giddly singing and shaking his head to each word, tapping his penguin foot in time with Ringo's down beats. As the harmony section approaches, he watches as Paul took a step towards the mic, eyes closed, to drown in the tune, John assumes. Paul's swaying figure then shadowed by the slender ones of George that followed suit, also headed towards the mic, his head sided towards the frets of his guitar, eyeing them profusely as his fingers do a choreographed number on the neck. 

Suddenly George swiftly, _swiftly_ turns his head the opposite direction, facing close towards the mic, no--close towards Paul who was right beside. In fact, very close to Paul's face that it looks to John that the two might-

  
**SMACK**.

  
John wasn't able to process what had just happened due to the sheer swiftness of it all, but what did happen afterwards was enough to confirm what he had indeed witnessed.

He saw, from the edge of his peripherals, George and Paul both pulling away from the mic, with Paul's hand immediately clutching his mouth as he turns away from the guitarist, wide-eyed in an expression of disbelief. George, on the other hand, initially shoved his face between the crease of his elbow, until he brought his forearm closer to his face, moving them frantically against his lips, trying to seemingly erase something off of it in an agressive fashion.

John found himself frozen in position with an attempt to piece each body language together. He turns to Ringo, whom he realized was doing just the same; interpreting what the hell just happened, albeit fully knowing what they saw.

Both Brian and George Martin call for a stop moments after the bassist and the guitarist's reactions. Before Brian could ask through the telecom what caused the sudden halt, they hear a few comments from Paul and George, directed towards each other.

"You're mad!" George exclaimed as he stares narrowly at Paul through his lengthy fringe.

"wha- _I'm_ mad?" Paul gasped. "You're the one who suddenly moved up to the mic without a warning, you!"

"Well I was told to get closer, you git! You're the one coming up to the mic with their eyes closed. 'Oh look at me, so dreamy, singing with my eyes closed ah, ah'..." George mocks Paul by mimicing his behaviour when he sang.

"Geo, stop." Ringo pleas for the sake of Paul, whom he saw was reddening by the ears. George gestures to Ringo in disbelief. "You saw it too, didn't you, Rings?" George interrogated, his accent growing stronger with every syllable, as well as his R's rolled, rumbling as he spat. Ringo shrugged his shoulders, his eyes shifting on John's to ask for assistance in the situatuon.

John clears his suddenly dry throat. 

"You lads just had a kiss." 

  
_...a Kiss..._

  
Brian and George Martin tried to settle the boys down, reminding them to continue the recording and to quiet down before a noise complaint arrives. They wouldn't want that, especially not now when they've barely gone through a single track properly, let alone completely.

"Oh, come off it, boys, t'was just a brush on the lips." someone from the booth added, possibly Geoff.

  
_Just a kiss_ , John thought.

  
_Just a kiss, huh. Nothing more_.

  
To John, being a clumsy Beatle himself, he was well aware that minor accidents occur often during recordings, and it was nothing out of the norm. For instance, one time Ringo's drumstick fell off his grip and he drummed so intensely it flew up to the ceiling, and out of fear Paul stepped out, only to trip on a cord and fall. Paul, in an attempt to save his bass upon landing, sacrificed his bottom, leaving him seat impaired for a few days. Another time John got hit by George's guitar head stock square on the face when they shared the same mic, causing him to wince a swear so obnoxiously loud to it that it began to cause a terrible feedback. One time they were just having the giggles because of the memory from the last incident that occured and couldn't record for a while. 

But a kissing accident? Never happened to any of them until today, and they've been harmonizing on shared mics since the beginning of time.

"Goodness gracious, lads. We're short on time." Brian exhaled, annoyance still comprehensible through the bad telecom.

  
The rest of the day George shared a mic with John instead. 

¤¤¤

The day finished with the same, routine ordeals; completed a recording or two (with occasional smoke breaks in between), receiving the Eppy Scolding, listen through the raw playbacks, tweaks and suggestions, talk about upcoming or previous tracks, 30 minute cig session, head home with the boys. 

_Just like any other day, really._

_Except for that one incident-_

_No_. John slapped himself mentally, _incidents aren't rare or unusual. Get over it, Johnny boy._

  
... _Just a regular ol' day with a minor accident, nothing more._

  
... _Just...another day at the studio_ , John's mind repeated like a mantra. Over and over and over.

But his heart argued otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we have the 1st chapter, lads! :D Feel free to leave feedbacks and such :)


	2. A Day In The Lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse any spelling and/or grammatical error...RIP my illiterate butt

"Bet you you're jealous I got to kiss Geo, huh?"

"I _what_?"

Paul and John spent their break smoking by the detached balcony as an ensemble. At first they distracted themselves with whatever was happening storeys below, but later on the unawkward silence was broken by Paul's absurd (at least to John's point of view) question, which rightfully earned Paul a crazed reaction, courtesy of John. 

_Jealous of you kissing Geo? Please..._

Paul continues, thinking that John needed the reminder. When in reality, John had gladly kept his comments to himself. "You know, the other day when George and I-"

"Yeah, yeah. I know that, you egg." John effectively stops Paul from retelling the dreadful scenario. _Phew_. "But what makes?" 

"'dunno. Maybe you have a thing for Geo." Paul takes a hit of his cig, giving silence for John's brain to work its thoughts together.

_A thing for George? You must be out of your mind._

_That's Ringo, not me._

_As for me, it's-_

Paul's sudden comment breaks the train of thoughts running in John's head. "Besides, you've been bummed out for a few days now, Johnny...and it ain't no coincidence that it began the day of."

"Hm, very well observed, Paul." John laments passive aggressively.

"Well I won't judge, Johnny. Man, woman, queer or not, I think anyone would've wanted a taste of George, that cat...everyone but me, of course." Paul corrects himself.

John scoffed at Paul's theory. "Now how do you reckon that...". John asked in rhetoric and yet he still waited for a sensible reply from the other. Instead of earning that tasty response...

Paul just flashed his cheeky smile. The smile that shifts the time signature of John's melting heart, seccessfully, mind you, each time. John argued that it's certainly tastier than what he wanted out of the guy. He unconsciously mimics Paul, smiling back as well as blushing back. His smile doesn't last, thought, as Paul went on to remark about a special incident. 

"It was sweet, too, y'know." Paul spoke in an almost-whisper along a nonchalant tone, not without a long pause beforehand.

"...The kiss."

He hadn't notice, but John's own throat began clogging up all of a sudden, and his brows automatically furrowing together after hearing the genuine cuteness of Paul's comment on George's kiss to him. It didn't help that Paul tried to describe it as he let out a cheeky chuckle.

"Tasted like chocolate digestives."

John spat in annoyance, or perhaps jealousy. "No need to go deep about it, Macca."

"Oh George sure did." Paul laughed.

John could only glare towards Paul, who responded with a sheepish "I kid, man." while fluttering his lengthy lashes, eyes averting John's daggers. 

_You cute bastard_.

John always finds himself unable to get mad at him. Not that he hadn't had similar reactions towards Paul before. He'd certainly been irritated towards the man, just like now, but it was never _mad_ mad. Never spiteful. Never to be taken seriously. In the end, whenever there were childish arguments, whenever they get heated up after miniscule disagreements, John always made sure to remind Paul that 'It's only me', sometimes having to display it physically by removing his glasses, letting Paul's eyes meet his pair without obstruction. The two of them, staring into one another, as a mean to understand each other.

Paul was special to him in that way. Knowing that anger was not at all a foreign emotion to John, and that no one is exempted from his wrath when it comes. No one, but Paul. John blames it on the sweet nature of the man, and that Paul had cast some sort of spell that makes himself mad repellant. _Or maybe he's my sort of kryptonite when it comes to emotions..._

John had gone quiet, thinking. Soon Paul began to go silent also, his hums diminishing to soft burts of air, his mindless foot tapping switched over to his toes, fumbling within the shoes. Both were officially lost in their own heads at this point.

They continued to loiter in serenity, hypnotized by the happenings of the street and their mind. The silence between them wasn't unwanted, it lingered with the both of them consensually. John pulled himself out of his head and noticed what had unfolded between them, finding it to be a great opportunity to do _something_. Yet as much as John had the urge to make a move, show affection to Paul then and there, a moment like this--in calm, at peace with the presence of each other--was really what he craved for. So, he let it be.

¤¤¤

The beautiful moment was interrupted by Paul, who had turned back to face the building ever so hastily, making John glance down his wrist to check the time. Before he could decipher the watch needles, Paul announced to him.

"Come, John. We're late and I don't want another Eppy lecture. You know very well how he is when he's pissed."

... _Going already?_

John let himself stay there, immobilized, glued on by his feet as Paul went his way. He didn't want this to end so soon. If he could he would ask for some more minutes, more time for the break just for _this_ but he knew better not to mess with the schedule.

Suddenly Paul grabs him. Seconds ago the man was speed walking towards the building. Now the latter was inches away from John, hand around his forearm attempting to pull him along. "Well? Let's go! Do you want to stay 'ere overnight to finish a track? With the neigbours complaining? Or get it done now?"

Defeated by reasoning, John followed behind Paul, a grumpy expression across his face as he bitterly moved, his arm still grasped by the other man. 

He moved only because he had Paul take him away, and there's not a moment where Paul doesn't take him away when he tries. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the shortness of this chapter. The next ones are going to be longer, hopefully^^ 
> 
> PS: George really do be a cat doe 👀


	3. A Hard Day's Night

_Tonight's fucking dreadful_ , John practically cried.

He'd been tossing and turning in his sheets, the pillows fallen off the edge of the bed as he repositioned himself every minute, from sides, to front, to back. He tried everything to ge himself knocked--flipping pillows, removing pillows, counting sheep, clearing his mind, sleeping without a blanket, without pyjamas, with pyjamas, wearing a thick trench coat, sock on and off--But to no avail. It all left him either cold or sweaty, all in all uncomfortable. He wished it left him tired, tired enough to crash into deep sleep. But...

  
_...I just can't sleep_.

  
It's just that he couldn't sleep. He was scared of sleeping. 

Everytime he tried to sleep, he'd see _something_ , and it'd shake him off of slumber. Scare him awake.

Everytime he closed his eyes he saw _it_. 

He saw the image of George and Paul in the studio, with everything set up the same way as that fateful day. The two of them passionately kissing, almost out of mockery. Their hands all up in each other's business. George _moaning_ about how sweet his biscuits are, and Paul _agreeing_ as he kissed back.

It was very much like a car crash to John. He couldn't look away as much as he wanted to. So, to distract himself from this nightmare scenario he searched for Ringo, only to find the drummer clapping at the scene, applauding how the two made out. "Go get 'em Geo." Ringo exclaimed proudly. 

_What the fuc-_

He watched Paul pulling away, diverting his sultry lidded eyes from George's gaze, meeting John's horror-filled ones. Paul trying to catch his breath as he stared down John, eliciting a heart-wrenching feeling from him, albeit he was still very allured by how Paul looked. 

As soon as Paul retrieved enough oxygen, he directs a question to John. 

"You're jealous, aren't you?" He smirked sinfully, George turning back towards John, casting him a sly smile before proceeding to attack Paul's lips. Another make out session envelopes. 

John's world was shattering right in front of him as he watched and heard it all; How loudly they kissed, how they moaned in each other's mouth like madmen, how Ringo cheered them on like it was his hometown sports team, how George Martin and Brian Epstein were allowing this to happen during precious work time, even going as far as to encourage the two through telecom, whistling and hooting at them, how the pair didn't stop kissing, how they haven't breathed at all, how Paul looked like that and that it was George instead of him leaving Paul debauched like that-

John's body jolted suddent, waking up with cold sweat coating his entire body. A bitter taste in his mouth prominent as he yawned himself awake. John's left hand fumbles in the dark for his glasses while his right hand rubs his eyes clear. 

Once he's equipped with his lenses, he takes a gander of his dim surrounding, knowing that he'd woken up too early for his liking. To confirm, though, he checked his watch.

_...4:37 am...Which means 3 hours...That's the longest I've been asleep tonight._

  
Now that he was startled awake by jealousy, he found it hard to fall back to sleep. He feared another derivation of the same scenario. He feared another nightmare. All he could do was fall back into his mattress and lie there, eyes up at his ceiling trying to work out his thoughts and emotions.

He thought about Paul (like he always does), and what it would've been like to kiss the man. How nearly impossible it is to do so in casual context without risking things. He wishes he had George's position so that things like that could unfold accidentally, without him having to initiate anything. Where all he had to do was turn his head and **Bam** **!** Mission success... _But life doesn't work that way._

  
_Instead, life wants me to work for it. Huh._

  
As John sank deeper into his bed, he began thinking, planning, organizing some sort of scheme that would make kissing Paul a reality, and that it happens not accidentally but intentionally. With passion.

  
With love.

  
Overthinking about his ingenious plot had left him sleepy, and sure enough, John was snoring within minutes. His sleep this time prove hopeful as he entered his slumber with good vibes colouring his mind, even though the last thing he remembered before falling unconscious was the bitter taste in his mouth. 

He knew that won't be an issue come the future.

He knew Paul can make that bitter taste go away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's still a little short for my liking! Hopefully I can make it up in future chapters *wink* *wink*


End file.
